"Oh, Hail"

Just when you start settling in for a good rain storm watching, all hail breaks loose.

3 minutes this storm a'brewed, and this is what it left me:




I love watching rainstorms. But I really, really hate hail. Mostly I just hate when my kids cry because its so stinkin' loud, they can't nap, and especially when it leaves creepy clown smiles on my window. I hate that.




Does this not say creepy clown smile to you? ^^^^^^^
It must be intentional because although it isn't a good shot, if you'll notice the window pane next to this one is completely free and clear of any ice, but this one is ice covered except for this mad-happy contortion.

April Creepy Fools everyone! Mwahahaha

Nope. Not In the Loop

When I was younger my dad absolutely REFUSED to do any sort of errands that weren't "in the loop"
That meant he would plan out a route to do our Saturday or Christmas shopping by driving in a counter or clockwise motion until we had stopped everywhere we needed to. If something was outside of this "loop" it would not be done. If we realized we had forgotten something at a store we had stopped at before, it would not be shopped for. That was it. No second chances.

I grew up very anti "loop". It's very limiting. No woman decides she wants to buy something without checking out at least two other stores first. It's flat out against the woman code. There was nothing more frustrating than knowing that although a store was less than two minutes away, because it was a little too much to the left, I would have to get him to drive me to that store on another day.

Sometimes you are given things you don't want. Such as underwear on Christmas morning. Or a box of used knives for your wedding, or maybe shots at the doctor. Or crazy genes from your Pop.

Confession:

Now that I drive, I HATE left turns. Hate them. When living in Salt Lake, I would do just about anything to get out of a left turn. Even, yes. . . . loop. I know, ridiculous ain't it? But drivers of cars are crazy, and there's lots of them, cars I mean, and they are going both directions, and who really wants to be bothered with looking both left and right before cautiously creeping onto a street? No one, that's who. Especially when it is just as effective, albeit slightly more time consuming, to drive around the block and avoid the left hand turn.

Where I live now is nice. Left hand turns are less crazy. Mostly you just need to watch out for skunks and antelope. They hang around the left and the right sides so, I'm warming a bit to the the thought of going left. It's not like I'm prejudiced about turning left, it's more of an affection for all things right.

I can't help who I am. Genes are genes, loop or not. Grass is greener on the right side of the fence. Just look at my neighbor's house.

Okay I'm babbling now, but I suppose what I'm looking for is a little "I despise left hand turns too Jodi, you're not crazy. . . it's completely normal." Or even, "I don't do loops, but every fourteenth step, I have an urge to hop" or something like that.

Some little words like those would be very welcome.

Jocabulary

I'm writing a book. It's called Jocabulary. I feel it's necessary since I just came up with another brilliant quote, and I feel if this is going to be happening regularly, I better get my copywrites into a book early so no one can steal my stuff.
I was talking to Andrew last night and we were reminiscing and throwing out a lot of "coulda, woulda, shoulda's" . (I think that one is already taken). I finally got fed up with it and demanded:

"You know what?! All of that could have happened and it didn't. Sometimes you just gotta eat what's in front of ya."

It just came out. I didn't even pre-think it or anything.

"You know Andrew, It could have been a cheesecake, but it's just green beans. You have to eat it anyway."

Dead. On.


Sometimes you just gotta eat what's in front of ya
--Jodi Burnett

It Isn't Easy Growing Up Green

Me: Shea you are growing up so big!

Shea: Nooo! I don't want to get big!!

Me: Why not?

Shea: Because I don't want to turn green!!

Slightly offended, I started to explain to her that although when I growed up I did lose a lot of my olive complexion and start to turn more of a pasty white/blotchy lavendar color, I was certainly not green. And there's nothing wrong with purple blotches, she likes polka dots doesn't she? There's nothing to be afraid of because I turned out alright didn't I?

She cocked her head to the side, not seeming fully convinced.

Shea: Because when I grow up, a meteorite hits and then turns me green and then I grow up really really tall

Ah, yes. Monsters vs. Aliens. Such a classic. Susan gets hit by a meteorite on her wedding day, turns green, then grows into a not so scary giant. If you don't allow your children the privilege of wasting away in front of the tube and it seems to you that this is obviously a case of too much t.v. for my child, think of this:

Does your four-year old know the word meteorite?

I didn't think so. But more importantly:

Does your four-year old know that when they are hit with a meteorite, they turn green, then grow up into not so scary giants?

That's what I thought.

Blueberry Swamp

Shea is terrified of Shrek. She is afraid of his "green body" so when she sees him on the T.V. she covers her ears and closes her eyes, and gives off this high pitched siren/raptor squeal-scream. It pierces the ear, but is extremely effective since Shrek is swiftly removed whenever the blood curdling banshee sound is released.

Imagine my suprise when the scream normally reserved for Shrek was heard this morning after her seeing the special saturday homemade breakfast I made for her.






(Clearly these are blueberry muffins)

Wooowee kids! We are havin' ourselves a breakfast this mornin'!! Bring out yur spoons, and dig in!!

I think the scream was a bit of an overreaction. The extra burnt sunken in tops just add a fun swamp like twist to breakfast, and they only sort of tasted like fish. Nothing like Shrek. So I told her, if she acts so unappreciative, Mommy's not going make these nice homemade breakfasts from scratch anymore, and then she'll just have to stick to cold cereal.

That will teach her.

Life is Like the Spinny Thingy

I was vacuuming out my car today. Productive, I know. I had the little hand tool attachment out and was on my way to a clean car when I came across some jelly beans on a seat. What's this? My kids know better than to eat candy in the car! They would never ever do that!! Okay, maybe they did. The point is, there was a jelly bean. When using the vacuum hand tool, with the little swivel spinny thingy, everyone knows you shouldn't vacuum up anything larger than a crumb because it will either get stuck and slow down the spin or just fly right back out.

Today I was lazy working very quickly and didn't want to shut off the vacuum, and disengage the hand tool, just to vacuum up the few jelly beans. I also found the garbage can to be too far away to adequately throw them away without completely screwing up my awesome cleaning groove. If you saw my awesome swiping motion with vacuum, you would completely agree with me: not a crumb left.

Anyway, you're leading me away from my point. I decided to seize the moment and vacuum up those suckers knowing full well the risks involved could cause me more time later (I'm such a rebel). You know what?! The spinny thingy got stuck. Made a horrid noise too.

With the vacuum still on full power, I flipped the spinny tool around so I could assess the situation, and make sure nothing was broken. Since the spinner was completely stopped, I carefully lifted it closer to my eyes to peek in. Wouldn't you know it?

The spinny thingy suddenly came full speed ahead and the pesky jelly bean flew straight out and whacked me right in the eye.

That's when it hit me. Both the jellybean and the life changing metaphor:

Life is like the Spinny Thingy.

It goes crazy fast and if you don't take time to slow down and take care of the little things, they may just come back and try to poke out your eye.

Now if I can just copywrite my brilliance so that whenever I see the quote splashed around the internet it can read:

Life is like the Spinny Thingy.

It goes crazy fast and if you don't take time to slow down and take care of the little things, they may just come back and try to poke out your eye.
--Jodi Burnett

I think a byline makes me look so sophisticated. Yes?

A Lecture, a Lesson, and a Tulip

When cooking dinner, I get a lot of "ew, I don't like that Mom!" or "I don't want that!" and sometimes just plain "NOoooo's!" from my kids. Young picky eater's combined with my complete cluelessness with a spatula means I probably hear it more often than most. Today though, I HAD HAD IT! My girl's had been playing with friends for almost three hours, close to one hour longer than was allowed. I finally call over to my neighbor's house and am told they are on their way. I try not to be too hard on them when they are late, after all, they can't even tell time, but they are supposed to at least remember to ask their friends' mom's if they will tell them when it's time to go home. Madisen told me she forgot (convenient aye?), and I give a quick not-quite-lecture about the importance of coming home on time. When they follow me into the kitchen and see I'm cooking dinner, automatically the "I don't want's" and "ew's" come out in full swing.

"Out of My Kitchen!!" I demand. Sometimes it just gets that way right? A mother hen should feel appreciated by her little chicks every once in a while gosh darn it and today they better get ready to appreciate!!

Madisen start's out with a "but Mom, I "
"Nope, out"
"Mom, but I just"
"Nope, you were late, I just spent an hour cooking for you so you wouldn't be hungry, and I am not going to hear it tonight!"
the whine starts---> "No, but, Mom, just, I"
"No, I'm tired of this, you should learn to just say thank you for dinner, and eat it and I'm not going to put up with it tonight, so GET IN YOUR ROOM NOW!!"
tears rolling---> "but Mom (sob) I made this for you (sob) so you would be happy!!"

Do you ever get that feeling like you've been punched in the gut? I look at her hands holding out a little Popsicle stick with a blue construction paper flower and some random thread taped around it with "Mom" written in crayon. Ouch.

She was already running crying to her room when I recovered from the mom-shame. My daughter is forgiving. Thankfully. After a more gentle lecture than originally intended both Madisen and Shea came out to dinner a few minutes later officially humbled.

But not more than me.

Ah, that little one. This must be why the Lord sent me such a loving forgiving child. He knew I would need it when my temper and quick words get the best of me. I taped her flower to the computer monitor in a feeble attempt to make her see I appreciate it. After all, it is pretty darn sweet even if it did come with a hard lesson. Aren't little kid gifts the best?

Quirky Food Fights

My kids are quirky. It's quite possibly Andrew's fault. They have issues with what they will allow themselves to eat. Pete still does not allow his foods to touch each other on his plate. Maybe he's afraid they will fight. Either way I've decided my next two examples are obviously directly descended from Andrew's blood pool.

I served the boy pizza tonight for dinner. He kept picking up his piece and then dropping it and crying. It almost looked like he didn't like the thought of his hands getting messy in the sauce. He was so frustrated I decided I would help him out by lifting the pizza to his mouth for him. Still he would cry and push it away. Dumfounded, I turn to Pete for help and he looks at me as if I'm missing something big here. He takes the pizza, flips it upside down so the sauce is out of view, and the boy picks it up and happily munches away. "He always eats it upside down, you didn't know that?"

Nope. I'm the idiot.

This next example happened last week in the car, and thankfully you all know I'm not one to pick on Pete or I might tell you, that again , this directly reflects Father parenting. I would never tell you that.

Madisen to Shea:

Q:Why are you're toenails all short and gone away?

A: Oh, because I eated them.

Don't you find it odd that one of my children will happily munch on something he found stuck to the bottom of his shoe and not bat an eye, but cannot stand to place pizza in his mouth unless placed precisely in the right way?

Don't you also find it odd that another one of my children refuses to eat ice cream, but has found a way to become self sufficient by eating parts of her body? I would never point fingers, but for the record, I am decidedly weird-food-quirk free, where Pete is afraid of a battle against lasagna and a cucumber. Just sayin'

Plunger Promenade

There are some purchases that just shouldn't be made on their own. Sometimes it's necessary to pull random things off the isle and onto the cashier belt in order to cushion your embarrassment. Last night, I didn't feel like cushioning anything. I had no shame. The day was awful, one of those Jodi and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day days. I kicked it off bright and early breaking my dishwasher disposal by bombarding it with leftover stinky potato peels. Turns out disposals don't like spud peels anymore than I do. I call my husband and he asks me to stop at the store to grab a cheap plunger to suck the peels out of the sink. Because I’m miserable with allergies today my eyes were bloodshot and swollen and my nose was full of mucus (stupid pollen), I decided to swallow my pride and buy the darn plunger sans any random item cushion. Let the cashier think what she will. I scoured the store for any sign of a plunger. I didn't dare ask for help; wandering the isles alone with a clearly-sick face and asking for a plunger wasn't really my cup o’ tea. Strangely enough I found them next to the kitchen cleaners in the far back corner of the store. Hmm. With plunger in hand, I wonder how I'm going to make it to the checkout this way without running into someone I know because this is one of the worst possible and therefore most likely times I would. I avoid the isles and skirt through the baby diaper and swimsuit section; head low, object behind back. I appear to examine a tankini while the last person in line finishes up. When I rush forward and place the plunger on the belt, I find I don't know what to do with my hands. I can imagine what she's thinking, so how do I act casual? How do I stop my face from turning so red and for crying out loud, how do I get her to hurry the heck up?! After she rings me up for the $3 vexation, she has the audacity to ask me if I need a bag! Of course! I'm not trudging the rest of the way out to my car exposed like this! I hastily grab the sack and turn to leave. I pass the next check-out over, and see someone who curiously resembles me, awkward stance and all. I pass slowly and peek over at her single item purchase: Pregnancy test-no other items. Our eyes meet after she spots my plunger handle. I give her the courtesy look-away, and keep moving-- cowardly deciding to never again go the brave single purchase route- no cushion.

---

CSI: Jodi Robs Walmart Checker

It's good that we are all such close friends around here. This way I feel like I can spill my deep dark secrets. Like the fact that by day I participate in thievery. Hold that thought.

It's no wonder I despise grocery shopping. I never make it all the way through without incident. Today was a relatively short shopping trip, I had a list and everything. At about the half hour mark, the poor boy had fallen asleep in the cart seat. We had no jackets with us to cushion his poor little head (darn this warm weather), so in order to lessen the times his forehead clonked on the cart handle, we decided to skeedadle to the checkout.
Now, recently Andrew and I have come across Dave Ramsey and his book "Total Money Makeover". We've been following his wickedly simple advice, which in part involves using envelopes for expenditures like groceries. So on my way out today, I grabbed the little "grocery envelope". In order to head off a tantrum storm, I allowed my kids to talk me into an extra box of plain pasta (apparently the thought of anything but elbow macaroni was just unbearable to Shea). Plain pasta can't hurt, right? It's a dollar a box, Jack's ready to clunk his noggin again, let's avoid the whine/mom explanation/fit fest, grab another box and just get the heck out of here.
So at the check out, get this: I'm $0.73 cents short. Are you kidding me? I do a quick inner debate to decide whether I should use the debit card, or just put something back. Trying to stick to the budget, I grab the macaroni, and ask her to take it off.
The young checker smiles sweetly and refuses, stating she'll just give me a dollar. I try to quickly explain (the line is piling up behind me) that, no in that case I'll just use my card, after all, I have the money, I just didn't want to bother with the debit card when I was so close. To my horror, she pulls one straight from her own pocket, takes my cash, and rings it up.
Here was my dilemma: She looked so happy to be helping me out, that I just didn't have the heart to argue with her. However, I had the money and didn't like the idea that she pulled one from her own pocket when I really didn't need the tantrum avoiding pasta. And the part I'm most unhappy to admit, is that my pride was hurt more than anything. I was so embarrassed knowing everyone in line thought I couldn't pay for my food.
The whole drive home I felt horrible. What if she needed that dollar for her lunch break? Did the fact that I have no backbone mean I just robbed the poor checkout girl?

I've learned a few things from this experience:

If I'm using cash at the store, bring a calculator for crying out loud

There are wonderfully kind people in this world

Always carry coats for the boy to crash on if necessary, and

Pasta is evil.

So, did I just commit robbery? What would you have done?

There Once Was a Daddy Who Lived In a Shoe

One time, when I was five years old, I was getting ready for school. I was trying to put on my shoe, but it wasn't fitting. It felt like a sock or something was shoved against the toe. I got my dad to help me, and he couldn't get it on either, which was weird since the matching shoe fit fine. He pulled my foot out and out crawled a ginormous daddy-long-leg.

Creepy eh? Daddy long-legs are huge anyway, but to a five year old ack! He was big enough that I did not squish him when shoving my foot against his body. The creepy bugger held his own.

Yesterday I was putting on one of my shoes and I felt something suspicious when I put my foot in. I jerked it back out and threw the shoe on the ground. Upon close (hesitant) inspection, I found the shoe to be free of any creepies.

I still couldn't put it on for an hour.

Soggy Scone Bandit

The Setup:
A young, vibrant, intelligent, brunette, multi-tasking (yay, mom plug!) mother was readying herself for the shower when the phone rang. Leaving the water running, she steps out of the room to answer it.

The Crime:
Mother notices the pre-made scones for the family's weekly go cheap and easy navajo taco dinner have gone mysteriously missing.



The Evidence:
A chair left carelessly near the scene of the crime, and pulled against the counter indicates the bandit is disadvantaged by an unfortunate lack of height.



The Capture:
Ah, brilliant strategy used by the bandit: ducking into the running shower to throw us off of his scent so he can consume his soggy goods.

Unfortunately for this duck, his number is up.



The Punishment:




Mom's Motto: Go tough or go home. He'll never think of attempting this again.